


That Fat Bastard

by wethewalrus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wethewalrus/pseuds/wethewalrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So. After trying to explain the A/B/O universe to a friend, after a bottle of gin and six hours, I think she nailed it. </p><p>Jawn, our helpless Omega protagonist, is attacked by a ruthless cake-hungry Mycroft. He and Sherlock must shoulder through the resulting mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Fat Bastard

Once upon a time, there was a land called London. There was a man. Also another man. There was also a third man. To be honest, it’s a heavily populated area, but these three men are the only ones who we care about, so please ignore the rest of the men running around London.   
Our story revolves around one Jonathon Hamish W(hwa)atson, and his gaping self-lubricating butt vagina. Which he attempts to conceal under a fugly jumper. Obviously. These jumpers are a source of considerable frustration to his flatmate/not-yet-lover, one Sherlock Pirate Holmes. Detective, pain in the ass, brilliant violin player, and high-functioning sociopath, Sherlock Pirate Holmes is a man with breathtaking cheekbones. At least, according to John (Jawn).   
This story has another character. A darker, more sinister character, lurking in the shadows. Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft Alpha Holmes. His favorite things in the world are his umbrella, his brother, and raping his flatmate. Sherlock’s, not his own, as he doesn’t have a flatmate. Obviously.   
This particular day, Jawn decided to go for a walk. Little did he know what was waiting for him, lurking in the alleyway. One umbrella-wielding Holmes brother.   
Mycroft, overcome with Alphaly urges at the sight of Jawn’s wriggling backside as it sashayed down Baker street, pounced. The next seventeen seconds were unspeakable. However, once the jumper was disposed of, it was only a matter of time. Poor Jawn had no idea this morning when he left his flat, that he would soon become impregnated. Quite by accident, by the brother of the flatmate who he quite fancied. Yes, quite.   
So Jawn, having a busy morning already, and what with it only half past ten, decided to return to the flat for a cup of tea. It was there in the kitchen that Sherlock found Jawn weeping silently and quite girlishly into his tattered jumper. After checking on his severed head mold experiment, he decided he couldn’t ignore Jawn any longer and must ask for the reason behind his sniffles.   
“Jawn. Whyfore art thou sad, Jawn?” He nudged Jawn aside with a foot so he could reach the tea and crumpets.   
Jawn, drawing a steadying breath, declared that he was a strong independent flatmate and did not need Sherlock to intervene in his personal affairs. He immediately starting crying like a baby, so Sherlock was quick to deduce that Jawn was a filthy liar. Sherlock noticed the state of Jawn’s torn jumper, and the state of his gaping self-lubricating butt-vagina, and thought to himself, ‘the only other person who hates Jawn’s jumpers as much as me, and has a propensity for butt-vaginas and cake is Mycroft. That fat bastard’.   
“That fat bastard,” Sherlock said out loud. Jawn continued crying on the floor, while Sherlock went about his life, polishing cheekbones and solving crimes.   
After a lovely nine months a squalling mewling sound rent the air. Sherlock, immersed in his mind palace, hardly noticed the six fat babies that Jawn birthed onto the kitchen floor, from whence he had not moved once in the entire nine months. Sherlock was slightly disappointed to see how many looked like his brother Mycroft, with their cake rolls and their stupid fucking faces. He decided the least offensive of the lot could stay, and promptly named it Hamish.   
“Jawn, get up.” Sherlock nudged at Jawn with his foot. “Jawn, get up and dispose of these unsightly things. Stop lazing about Jawn, I require tea.” He took Hamish with him into the parlor, to show him his violin and skull collection.   
Jawn, overcome with happiness that his flatmate/not-yet-lover had taken up with one of his spawn, quickly collected the rest into a take-out box and enlisted Mrs. Hudson to deliver them to Mycroft’s abode before returning to the glorious scene unfolding in his flat. Yes, quite. Jawn, resuming his wifely duties, promptly made tea for three and also whipped up a batch of scones. While they were baking, he also dealt with his gaping self-lubricating butt-vagina. He tied a jumper extra tight around his waist to hide his unsightly deformities from Sherlock. Sherlock was quite appreciative of his efforts and rewarded him with a gentle pat on the head as he thrust Hamish out, instructing Jawn to feed him on his engorged mammary glands.   
At some point, in the middle of tea, Sherlock announces to the group that Hamish shall herefore be considered Sherlock’s apprentice and shall therefore remain at 221B Baker Street. He will accompany them on all their murder cases. It was in this vein that the next twelve years passed between the detective, the flatmate, and Hamish the butt-vagina-survivor. It was a beautiful time, but all good things must come to an end.   
It was another beautiful morning when Jawn prepared to leave the flat. However, he was stopped at the door by a bevy of strange fat teenagers. Before he could stop them, they were in his kitchen devouring every last morsel of cake. While Jawn was distraught and trying to recall Sherlock from his mind palace, Mycroft strode in, umbrella in hand.   
“Hello again Jawn. I see your fugly jumper has survived. A pity that. It’s time we talked about the kids.” Before Jawn could respond, a dozen white snowy owls burst through the open window and dropped Hogwarts letters for all the children. Sherlock tore up Hamish’s letter, because he was too brilliant already and he wanted to rub Hamish’s skinny face in Mycroft’s fat one.   
“Hamish is just starting to come into his cheekbones, and I refuse to let you ruin it with cake, you fat bastard.”  
The End.


End file.
